One Night
by The Last Poison Apple
Summary: One night -and perhaps some firewhiskey -might just be enough to change everything. Even between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. Femmeslash. Post-DH, EWE.


**Hey guys! So. This is my entry for The Hogwarts Games -Women's Boxing 500-1000 words, as well as the first week's entry for the 52 Weeks of Writing Competition, both on HPFC. I've never written this pairing before, even though I really quite like it. Somehow both my recent femmeslash pieces have included prompts related to alcohol. Wonderfully odd coincidence, if you ask me, but whatever.**

**Things to note: For the purposes of this fic, Ron never broke up with Lavender. Post-DH, EWE.**

**Prompt used (for the 52 Weeks Competition): Drunk**

**Word Count: 974 words (AN exclusive).**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

* * *

"What am I even doing here?" Hermione mumbled, scanning the crowd for Harry and Ron. She was disappointed to see that she could find neither. "Honestly though, it's so typical of them to disappear like this. I can't believe I expected anything more."

She helped herself to a firewhisky, rolling her eyes and grumbling all the way through. She supposed that while it was, well, _nice_ that Harry and Ron had both gone and gotten back with their girlfriends after the war, she was finding that this continuation of their respective relationships was putting their friendship on hold. And while she certainly wouldn't begrudge them the chance to catch up on the time they'd missed with their girlfriends, she also wouldn't have minded if they'd still thought to give her some of their time.

Hermione sighed. "Gits, the both of them."

She was surprised when someone actually replied. "What, did your boys ditch you too?"

Turning to her left, she realized that said someone was the Slytherin Harry and Ron had often referred to as 'the pug-faced one', from their very first year at Hogwarts. Hermione had never quite understood their reference –she'd never say it aloud, but she'd always thought Pansy Parkinson had become a bit of a looker once they'd reached fourth year. Not that it mattered, in the grand scheme of things. She was Hermione Granger, Gryffindor. And _she_ was Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin. They had never said a civil sentence to the other in all the years they'd been at Hogwarts.

Apparently, this eighth year marked their first.

"Unfortunately." Hermione took another swig of firewhisky. She didn't mind being civil –as far as she was concerned, after the war, everyone had a fairly clean slate to start on again –but seeing as this was Pansy Parkinson, she didn't think she'd really get through this cleanly sober.

Plus, she thought that she might not want to remember this conversation, nor its aftermath, in the morning.

"Where are Draco and Blaise?" Hermione asked, noting that the Slytherin girl was, much like her, alone at the party.

"Heck if I know," Pansy replied. "I think I meant that quite literally, too. Last I checked, their plans for tonight involved screwing a couple of girls."

Hermione snorted; it'd been long enough after the war that some people might be willing to put the fact that they apparently did amazingly under the covers over the fact that they were ex-Death Eaters –the wizarding world wasn't as kind about that as she'd have liked them to be –but this _was_ Hogwarts, and tensions were running at an all time high between most Slytherins and the rest of the school. "And if they can't find anyone to shag?"

"Well, they'll probably end up screwing each other," Pansy deadpanned. Hermione couldn't tell if she was being serious or not. "And I'll go back to the common room to find that they've puked all over the floor again."

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "That's disgusting."

Pansy sighed. "Tell me about it."

They were silent for a while after that, the both of them opting to simply drink firewhisky straight from the bottle instead of carrying out this odd conversation of theirs. Not that Hermione minded –in her increasingly lightheaded state, she thought Pansy just kept getting more and more beautiful as she looked on, and she didn't hesitate to tell the Slytherin she thought so. Although really, that _might_ have been the wine speaking.

Or it might have been her. Drunk actions, sober thoughts and all.

"Looks are something I pride myself on," Pansy said, not even bothering with humility. Not that Hermione had expected her to. Her boldness was something she often found she admired Pansy for, and she'd realized that at least in Pansy, boldness and humility weren't exactly what she'd call the best of friends. Ergo, they hated each other. "Never thought I'd say it, but you've cleaned up quite well over the years as well, Granger. Well enough that I always wondered what it'd be like to kiss you, you know. And it's not very fair of you to tempt me like that without at least acknowledging me at all."

"You're the one who hasn't been acknowledging me," Hermione snapped, frowning. "Don't you go pinning all the blame on me when you're guilty too."

"Oh, so now it's all my fault?" Pansy asked, sounding about as annoyed as Hermione felt.

In response, Hermione simply grabbed Pansy roughly by her robes, and pushed her lips against hers. Pansy was no pushover; her lips and tongue fought Hermione's for dominance, and Hermione blamed it on the firewhiskey that she lost. It was either that, or admit that Pansy was everything she'd imagined her to be –and better, and upright as she thought she was, that was one battle her ego was not going to lose.

Somehow, they managed to stumble out the door, down the corridor, and down the stairs to the Slytherin common room while engaged in full-out lip-lock.

Normally, Hermione would have protested against using the Slytherin common room, but tonight, her lips were too busy to say a word. And her head, somehow light and heavy and warm at the same time, couldn't seem to find a reason to command her lips to disengage just so she could.

* * *

In the morning, Hermione woke to Pansy Parkinson standing over her, a bottle of hangover potion in her outstretched hand.

Even before taking it, she found that she remembered every bit of the previous night's conversation –and every bit of what had ensued after.

Loathe as she was to admit it, she was glad her memories weren't just one drunken blur, because in the night that had just passed, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor, had just found out that Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin, was a very good kisser after all.


End file.
